Lullaby Sung
by myfeethurt
Summary: You’re on your way up now, jumping lightly from rung to rung and from landing to landing. All the way, up to her window." CAM


Been meaning to write this for a while now. Ah, well.

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

* * *

You can't feel your hands.

But that's alright, seeing as how you can't feel your feet either. And you figure that if one set of appendages is numb, it is only fair if the other is as well. It doesn't matter if something happens to one side, if it also happens to another. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and all that shit. You call it shit because not everything has a reaction worth paying attention to and even if it did, you're Sam and you don't care.

At all.

And even if you did, it wouldn't matter, not right now. 'Cause all that matters now is running. Running as fast as you can through the empty streets that lead to where you need to be. Screw anything else.

Screw the stitch in your side and your shortness of breath. Screw the tall buildings that tower over you so placid in their power. Screw the blisters that'll appear tomorrow (and you know they will because you didn't even think about putting on socks as you careened out the door). Screw the freezing rain as it unceremoniously dumps itself into your way. Screw the lightning and screw the thunder. Screw Seattle.

But most importantly, screw the _storm_.

Because as hard as you can think, it all comes down to that. The _storm._ As soon as you saw the dark clouds rolling in, you knew. Knew that you would run tonight, weaving through empty street with your feet on autopilot. Because you've done it before, so many times that it all just blends together in your mind. _Where does one time end and the next begin?_

So you were anticipating it, really. Mentally preparing yourself for what you knew would come.

And it did.

The call came around one in the morning. You of course were dressed and ready, and had been having a staring contest with your phone (_Dammit you lost)._ You knew then that the storm had gotten to Carly like all the others had and she _needed _you. _But not nearly as much as you needed her._

Because ever since she was a little girl, she had been afraid of the storms and ever since you became friends you had known. And you had been there.

And you are there now, you realize with a jolt. Your feet had brought you to her. Moving swiftly, you turn down the alley next to the building. Deftly jumping your hands grab the last rung of the fire escape and you pull your self up, savagely ripping your stomach muscles in the process. _Well, screw that too._

You're on your way up now, jumping lightly from rung to rung and from landing to landing. All the way, up to her window.

You lift the window gracefully and in one swift motion, you are inside. And, you see her then. Curled into a ball under the covers.

Carly.

_Your_ Carly.

And that magnetic connection to her that you've always felt is so much stronger, now. Because every time the lightning flashes she whimpers and every time the thunder crashes, she flinches, burrowing farther into herself. And she _needs_ you.

You wanna run to her now, pet her hair and tell her its okay but you can't, not until you change out of these clothes, at least. Because you're sopping all over the floor and you want to make Carly feel better, and not give her pneumonia.

Preferably.

Therefore, you pull your clothes off and throw them somewhere in Carly's room, not caring where they landed, be it in Carly's closet or on the moon. And you throw on the pajamas Carly keeps for you on the left-hand side of the second drawer in her dresser. _She knows you far better than you know your own self._

And when you're determined that you won't cause Carly any sort of injury or disease because of your general appearance, you make your way to Carly's bed and begin to try and pry a bit of the covers (that she is still hiding under) out of her vice-like grip.

It takes a few minutes but finally you manage the feat and slip in next to her quivering body. Now, you have to try and coax Carly out of her self-imposed fetal position (a feat easier said than done).

However, it doesn't take long before the next boom of thunder, at which she flinches, and curls into your accepting embrace. You rub her back gently in an effort to calm her, stroking in rhythmic circles.

All the while, you've been half-murmuring half-whispering in that "reserved especially for Carly" voice. You make shushing noises and weave tales of lazy summer afternoons, melting cherry popsicles, and whole mornings spent in bed. Pancake dinners and blue oceans.

Finally, her body relaxes and she snuggles into your embrace. You lean down slowly to kiss her and she returns the gentle brush of lips drowsily. An arm tightens around your waist, your name drops from her lips in a sigh and then she's asleep.

You run your fingers through her hair now, still telling her stories of a beautiful princess with long dark hair and olive skin dancing with an adoring knight with blue eyes and knobby knees, freshly mowed grass and falling leaves, and golden bands you wear on the fourth finger of your left hand.

You look down at your Carly.

You smile.


End file.
